


Questionable Decisions

by Yggdrastiles (hauntedsilences)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, First Time, Heterosexual Sex, no age kink though because that makes me feel dirty and not in a good way. sorry, what does that say about me?, which is weird because I think it's my first time writing het sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedsilences/pseuds/Yggdrastiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly smut. Some feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questionable Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that I’ve been thinking up as a part of a larger story that’s still in the works. But there’s not really any Hannigail in that one, sooo...  
> Anyway, we’re going to assume that Hannibal never slept with Alana, alright? Because meh.  
> And since Abigail was gonna get into college in season 1 and this is set in season 2, I'm going to assume she's at least 18 and you should too, because otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. Just saying.  
> Anywho...let me know what you think ♥
> 
> All mistakes are mine, feel free to point them out :D

Hannibal has always been tactile, that much was immediately obvious. In the days after they faked her death, she had felt his arms around her like a brand. It had been a little unsettling, but not entirely unwelcome. There were hugs, kisses to her forehead, a hand on the small of her back. Little things. Innocent things. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. 

Clearly her subconscious had other ideas, however. Funny how dreams can make you consider something, someone in a way you never would have before. Her dream was dark, and was mostly composed of sound and touch. She could feel their bodies moving together, and the sound of his voice was unmistakable. When she awoke with a gasp, she lay in bed painfully aroused and a little confused. She didn’t hesitate to slip a hand under the waistband of her pyjamas and circle her clit with one finger. She gasped quietly, not wanting to attract attention. Even though they were several rooms apart, the man had taken on an almost omniscient quality that left her feeling vulnerable at best. She was close, and her other hand drifted down and she slipped two of her fingers inside her, hooking them up sharply, urgently. It was just enough to send her over the edge and she turned her face into the pillow to whine softly as she came down, slipping her fingers out of her pants. 

The next morning she made a concentrated effort not to act any differently, but it was hard to meet Hannibal’s eyes. But at the same time, he was all that she could look at. Suddenly she was noticing the muscular planes of his back as he cooked, and the curl of his fingers, oh so long and dexterous, as they curled around a knife. Breakfast was an agony as he lifted his fork to his perfect, sculpted mouth and she wondered how those lips would feel on her own body. She had been distantly aware of the fact that he was attractive before, but she’d never entertained these kinds of thoughts, due in part to his age, admittedly. She’d always thought age gaps were a little weird and creepy. Plus, as a psychiatrist, the last thing she wanted was for him to assume that this new attraction was somehow connected to her father, and having lost him. That was the weird thing about Will and Hannibal. While she could sense that Will had paternal feelings towards her, she knew that Hannibal certainly didn’t. He might feel protective, perhaps, but despite the part he played in front of Will, those kinds of feelings didn’t really exist. 

It was perhaps, inevitable, that Hannibal would notice something was wrong. He’d probably noticed from the time she’d come padding out of her room that morning but had hoped she’d bring it up herself. 

“You seem out of sorts, Abigail.” He said. “Is there something the matter?” 

And oh, the way he said her name, the way his tongue curled over the syllables made her want to shiver pleasantly. She only barely managed to contain the urge. “Strange dream.” She said simply, hoping that would be the end of it. She was no stranger to nightmares and had already made it clear to him in the past that she didn’t want to discuss them. 

Still, he tilted his head as he considered her. “You’ve been staring.” He said plainly, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks at the observation, because it wasn’t said accusingly. She cursed the involuntary action that had given her away. 

“Have I.” She stated. “I’ve been lost in thought.” She said, trying to shrug off the question. She took another bite of her breakfast. Hannibal was not so easily dissuaded, no. When it came to prying information out of people, he was like a dog with a bone. 

“Perhaps your dream was not one typical for you.” He suggested, still eyeing her. 

“Typical enough.” She countered, knowing as she did so, that she’d chosen too obvious a lie. No, the key to lying to Hannibal was to always tell at least half of the truth. 

“Abigail, if you do not wish to discuss it, I would prefer your honesty over blatant lies.” He chided, and she swallowed thickly, feeling as if her throat were constricting. 

“It wasn’t typical, no.” She said, confirming what he already knew. The disappointment in his voice, however, both thrilled her and shamed her. It was an odd combination. 

“Given your behavior, am I to assume that I featured in this dream in some capacity?” He ventured, looking awfully smug about it. She had the anxious feeling that he knew exactly what her dream had been about. But he couldn’t, could he? And if he did, why was he dragging this out? Was it to humiliate her? She hadn’t been rude or discourteous. Those were the only kinds of people he usually humiliated. 

“In some capacity.” She agreed. Keeping her tone light. “I often dream of that day.” She said. Not a lie. 

His eyes narrowed minutely as if he could guess exactly what she was thinking. “Those dreams are usually your nightmares.” He countered. “You do not seem distressed.” 

This back and forth was exhausting. She wondered how he and Will could stand to talk like this for as long as they did. “Woke up in the middle of the night. I had time to calm down and rationalize it.” Also not technically a lie. Although she’d done a lot less rationalizing and a lot more...well. 

Hannibal nodded and continued eating, and Abigail mentally sighed in relief. It was done. It was over. She finished eating and just as she was about to rise from the table, Hannibal spoke. “Could you hand me a slice of bread?” He asked, and she nodded, reaching over to the bread basket. Before she could hand it to him, though, he caught her wrist in a delicate but firm hold. He brought her hand to his nose and breathed in deeply. He met her eyes and his lips curled into a wry smirk. “Naughty girl.” He admonished, and her lips parted in a gasp. Hearing those words in his voice made arousal pool low in her stomach. Fuck, she was getting wet. 

She couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what she would say even if she could. “Did you even wash your hands before coming to breakfast?” He wondered out loud. She hadn’t. She’d forgotten. 

He clicked his tongue and released her hand, but not before taking the bread. Abigail felt her face unbearably red and she dropped her eyes to the tablecloth. This was utterly humiliating and she could feel the tears prick at her eyes. Eyelashes fluttering desperately, she collected her dishes and hurried to the kitchen, rinsing them off briefly before escaping to her room. 

She took a shower, both to clear her head and to wash away the proof of her arousal and...other activities. She knew Hannibal enough to know that this was far from finished. Why bring it up unless he had some sort of agenda? He wasn’t usually needlessly cruel. 

She finished her shower and retreated to her room until she heard him leave for work. Only then was she able to truly breathe a sigh of relief. 

When Hannibal got back home, it was clear that he was exhausted, more emotionally than physically she’d wager. She wondered if that meant that he’d gone to see Will. Probably. 

She waited in the study, curled up on a couch with a book she was only half paying attention to. It wasn’t long before Hannibal came in, suit jacket discarded as he poured himself a glass of brandy. He raised it questioningly as he turned to look at her and she nodded. That was one perk of living with Hannibal. He let her drink. Never to excess, mind, but still. It was thrilling. 

He walked to her and handed her the glass, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, rather than his armchair, which he usually preferred. “Long day?” She asked, setting the book down on an end table. 

Hannibal nodded. “It would seem that our esteemed Dr. Chilton has decided to restrict my access to Will.” He said with a sneer. 

Abigail raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Does he have a death wish?” She asked, which made him smile at her fondly. 

“I am starting to believe so.” He agreed. “His usefulness wanes daily.” 

Abigail hummed in agreement. “So I guess it’s time to break Will out, right?” She asked. 

“That will need to be set in motion, yes.” He said, sipping his brandy. “I’m afraid that I have made a miscalculation.” he admitted. 

Abigail thought for a moment before grinning. “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” 

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, “An unfortunately apt colloquialism.” He concedes. “I could walk away from all of this. I am not under suspicion, not truly. There is no need for me to keep playing this game.” he mused. 

“And yet...” Abigail says. 

“And yet.” He agrees. They both take another sip. 

“You’re...drawn to him.” Abigail points out. “You’re like a satellite that can’t escape his orbit. And you just realized that you don’t really want to.” 

If Hannibal takes offence to the comparison, he doesn’t show it. “I’m not sure when that became the case.” He admits. 

“Probably around the same time you decided Will was friend, not food.” She supplies, which garners a small smile. It feels like a victory. 

“Will has not been ‘food’ for a long time.” 

“And therein lies your answer, I guess.” She says, downing the rest of her drink in one go. 

Hannibal looks at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I apologize for my behavior this morning. It was impolite.” 

Abigail is taken aback both at the apology and the fact that he’s bringing it up at all. She figured they would ignore it in a mutually unspoken agreement. She gapes for a moment before nodding. “You’re forgiven.” She allows, hoping for a quick resolution to this conversation. Too much to ask for, apparently. 

“I did not sleep well last night, as I was plagued by my own dreams. I believe my discourtesy was based upon irritation stemming from sleep deprivation.”

“It’s fine.” She says a little tersely. It stings a little that he’d felt irritated at her. She hadn’t actually done anything to him, except for maybe stare a little too long. Something about this entire discussion was leaving her with a cold feeling in her stomach. She began to think of a way to excuse herself. 

“Do not lie to me.” He says in a voice much softer than she’d expect. 

She sighs, not really feeling up to navigating the nuances of conversation with Hannibal. “Fine, Hannibal, it’s not fine. I don’t know what you want to hear from me.” 

“The truth, preferably.” 

She glares at him, but it’s mostly without heat. “What truth, exactly? You haven’t asked any questions.” 

“Your dream was erotic, was it not?” He asks, and his eyes are fathomless and knowing. She feels irrationally angry at the way his hair falls in his face. Too damn attractive for his own good. 

“Yes. What do you care?” She challenges. 

“How long have you felt this way?” he asks, ignoring the question. 

She sighs again, “No idea. The dream was completely out of the blue.” 

“And yet you have been thinking about it all day.” He ventures and she hates that he’s right.

“I don’t see the point of this. It’s irrelevant.” 

“I beg to differ. It seems entirely relevant.” 

“Look, Hannibal. I get that it makes you uncomfortable. It’s fine. I’m not going to act on it, so there’s no point in having this conversation.” She says, a little exasperated. 

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He counters. 

“No, but you’re also painfully in love with Will, even if you don’t see it yet.” She points out. 

This gives Hannibal pause as he considers. “You are not entirely incorrect.” He concedes. “But be that as it may, I am not in a position to engage in a romantic relationship with Will. Not yet.” 

Abigail narrows her eyes. “What exactly are you saying?” 

“I would not be opposed to exploring this...between us.” He says calmly. Far more calm than anyone has the right to be in this situation. 

She looks at him incredulous. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re saying you don’t have any moral hangups about this at all?” 

“If you’re referring to your age, you are an adult who can make her own decisions about this. I will not initiate anything, I am merely stating that I would not be opposed.” 

Abigail nods slowly, processing this. “This won’t be long-term.” 

“Probably not, no.” He agrees. 

“This happens on my terms?”

“Entirely.” 

“What do you stand to gain?”

He smiles. “The company and attentions of a clever young woman.” 

Emphasis on the young, she thinks but doesn’t say. His face looks like he heard it anyway. 

“The power imbalance between us is worrying.” She tries. 

“Are you concerned for your sake or mine?” 

She thinks on it for a moment, considering. So far she’d managed to go the conversation not actually thinking about what it was Hannibal was offering. The moment she visualized it, it would be far too real. “Both, I guess. You could manipulate me.” 

“I already have.” He points out. True. She still trusts him for some reason, though. Why? Is she that far into some kind of sick captor-bonding mentality? More importantly, does she care? 

“If I decide I don’t want it?” 

“We stop.” 

“At any moment?” 

“Yes.” 

“How much does your word mean?” 

“I am many things, Abigail. I am not a rapist. I prefer the enthusiastic consent of my partners.” He manages not to sound too offended by the question. 

“And it would be rude.” She teases, proud of herself for feeling confident enough to do so. 

“It would be, yes.” Hannibal agrees, a smile in his eyes. His eyes have the ability to seem so cruel and so kind. It’s a strange paradox. 

She takes a moment to look him over, blatantly ogling as she catalogues each part of him. He is...older, yes. Probably older than her father was. She tries very hard to be put off by that and fails, miserably. Hannibal is nothing like her father, and she’d rather keep it that way. 

She stands, then, putting down her glass on the end table and walking over to stand in front of him. Hannibal has remained silent, watching her watch him with quiet amusement. He uncrosses his legs and she straddles his thighs, holding on to his shoulders for balance. His hands settle on her waist, courteous and undemanding. 

His shoulders are firm beneath her hands and she feels very small, but finds that she likes the effect. She can feel the heat of his palms through her sweater, and while the touch itself isn’t arousing, the knowledge of why they’re there sends a thrill through her spine. She can feel herself getting wet already and she tries not to blush.

She places her hands on his cheeks, running her thumbs over his cheekbones and he has to look up to meet her eyes. It’s a heady feeling. She’s only done this twice before, her father was very overprotective and managed to scare away any potential boyfriends. She dips her head before she can think about it too much and touches his lips with her own. 

He lets her explore, and she does, experimenting with pressure and feeling the soft, warm, silk of his lips. She wonders how, exactly, one goes about deepening the kiss. Would it be weird to just start licking him? He’s kissing her back, but letting her lead, not taking more than she’s offering. However, he seems to sense her hesitation, because without warning, he flicks his tongue against the seam of her lips and her lips part in surprise. Well, that answers that question. 

From then on, they kiss open-mouthed, and her tongue ventures to slide against his. He tastes like brandy, and Abigail moans, the reality of what she’s doing catching up to her. She’s kissing Hannibal. Hannibal is kissing her back. She’s making out. With Hannibal. It’s all more than a little surreal. 

Eventually she pulls back, breathless and looks at him, satisfied that his breath is a little labored too. It’s gratifying to see that he’s lost some of his composure. His mouth curls into a little pleased smile which she returns. He doesn’t comment on her inexperience, and she’s grateful. 

“You can touch me.” She allows, being purposefully vague to see what he will do. He slides his hands down to her knees, and draws them back up, cupping around her rear. It’s pleasant, and sends shivers racing down her spine. 

She reaches for his tie, and he tilts his head back obligingly so she can remove it. She does so carefully, knowing that the piece of fabric probably costs more than all the clothes she’s currently wearing combined. She tosses it onto the couch next to them and unbuttons his collar down to the first three buttons. She’s nervous about going further. She’s not sure how much she’s permitted. 

She’s distracted, however, by the feeling of Hannibal’s large palms sliding up the back of her sweater. She whimpers a little at the feeling of his hands on her bare skin. They’re softer than she imagined, and the inside of his wrists and forearms graze against her skin in a way that leaves her aching and restless. 

She ducks down for another kiss and he meets her mouth eagerly. All she can smell is the brandy on his breath and the spicy scent of his cologne. It’s a heady combination and she presses herself more fully against him, settling in his lap properly and rocking against him. He grunts quietly against her mouth and she realizes belatedly that he’s hard. She can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips as she rocks against him more firmly. 

She breaks their kiss with a mischievous grin. “You got a bed, Hannibal?” 

He looks at her assessingly and nods. “If you’re sure.” 

“Yeah. I think I am.” She says, feeling just the right combination of aroused, loose-limbed, and reckless. 

Hannibal doesn’t insult her by asking again. Instead, he hoists her by her thighs, lifting her as he himself stands. That he’s strong enough to do this sends another thrum of arousal through her. “Oh my gosh.” She gasps, clinging to him for balance. He chuckles lightly as he carries her up the stairs. 

When they get to the master bedroom, Hannibal deposits her on the edge of his bed before backing away to remove his waistcoat and shoes. “Would you prefer the lights on or off?” He asks, likely in deference to her inexperience. Abigail finds it endearing. But whatever body image issues she might have pale in comparison to the desire to see Hannibal completely. 

“On.” She decides, and draws her sweater over her head to prove her point. Hannibal raises an eyebrow and his gaze roams over her chest appreciatively before undoing the buttons on his own shirt. She watches him with rapt attention as more flesh is revealed. She wonders what his chest hair feels like under her fingertips and she squirms with anticipation, knowing that she’ll be able to find out very soon. 

Barechested, Hannibal folds his shirt and places it with the rest of his clothing. Abigail preemptively unbuttons her jeans, shimmying them down her hips. She tries not to feel too juvenile as she does this, trying to remove her clothing as confidently as possible, toeing off her shoes and stuffing her socks in them.

If Hannibal notices her intentions, he keeps mercifully silent about it. Instead, he follows her lead, undoing the fastenings of his own trousers and removing them, along with his socks. She makes a half-assed attempt at folding her own clothes, but she feels ridiculous. So much ceremony involved and it feels like they’re rehearsing for parts of a play. She wants to feel his skin against hers again, otherwise she’s going to start overthinking this and that’s not something that she wants. 

She scoots up onto the bed, clad only in her bra and underwear, both matching, both something very adult-looking in lace and electric blue. God bless Alana. Although the thought of Alana finding out what she’s using them for makes her giggle. It’s obvious that she has something for Hannibal, and that Hannibal doesn’t reciprocate, not completely at least. 

Hannibal raises his eyebrows in question at the sound of her giggles. “Something amusing?” 

Abigail bites her lip and shakes her head, still smiling. “Nope. Just an errant thought.” 

Hannibal doesn’t pry, and it’s strange to see him so...quiescent...but she supposes it’s for her benefit. It’s a sweet gesture, but she can’t help but hope that changes. 

“C’mon.” She beckons, smiling at him encouragingly, and he obliges, climbing onto the bed over her, his hair falling in his face in a way that almost makes him look boyish. He smirks down at her and she draws her knees up to bracket his hips. Abigail tugs him down for another kiss, wrapping her legs around him until he lies flush with her body. She welcomes the weight of him, it’s warm and solid against her, one part of him especially. 

He kisses her passionately, tonguing into her mouth with an insistence that makes her keen, tangling her fingers in his hair. He braces himself above her with one forearm placed near her head while the other hand smooths down her back. He deftly unsnaps her bra and it makes her wonder how many times he’d done that. A man of his age and confidence...

He pulls back enough to draw her arms through the straps and she cooperates, lips red and flushed. She expects him to go back to kissing her, and in a way he does, kissing and sucking on her neck in a way that makes her remember that he is, in fact, a cannibal. The thought ought to be worrying, but for a moment it gives her pause, but then she remembers that technically, so is she. Well, that changes things a bit. 

She lets him kiss and suck and lick and nibble on her, trailing kisses down to her breasts, which he kneads with one hand while he sucks on the nipple of the other. It feels nice, but they’re maybe not actually that sensitive. 

He notices that she’s not writhing in pleasure and looks up at her. “Not to your taste?” He asks.

She shrugs, “It feels nice, and if you like it, by all means continue.” 

He smiles, “Ideally this is the sort of activity one does not simply endure.” 

Abigail shook her head. “Nope, but it’s a two-way street, right? I don’t mind it, but if you find it pleasurable, then you can continue.” 

Hannibal nods carefully, “While I do enjoy orally-fixated actions, I believe there is somewhere else my efforts will be greater appreciated.” He insists. 

Abigail adopts a faux-lofty expression, “Well by all means, then. Proceed.” She waves her hand in a corresponding gesture and Hannibal chuckles, kissing his way down her stomach. 

“I hope you intend on letting me have my turn.” She says, holding herself up on her elbows while Hannibal works her panties off of her. She’s momentarily glad that she doesn’t keep herself shaved bare, if so, she thinks she would look far too prepubescent. She isn’t sure, but the look on Hannibal’s face seems to think the same.

“Of course.” He agrees genially. “I wouldn’t dream of denying you.” And she thinks he’s only half-teasing. 

She’s prevented from making any further remarks as he spreads her legs and licks a stripe up her core. Her back arches and her fingers clutch uselessly at the sheets. “Oh...oh! Oh god...” She moans, head thrown back and lips parted as he licks at her mercilessly. Her legs fall apart naturally and his fingers hold her open, one tracing her entrance as his tongue plays with her clit. 

She mentally thanks whichever woman taught him how to do this, because now she gets to benefit from it directly. She barely notices when he slips a single finger inside her, but when he crooks it upwards to press against her sweet spot, she sees stars and her thighs momentarily clamp around his head before she remembers herself and lowers them. 

She pants heavily, breasts heaving as she whines for just a little more, just a little faster. Hannibal is only too happy to oblige, fitting another finger inside her, scissoring them apart and stretching her. She’d always heard that losing her virginity had to be a painful experience, and sure she can feel a little tightness, but even with two of his large fingers stretching her, well. She thought it would have gotten painful already. 

She can feel herself getting closer and a part of her wants to make it last, while another part just wants it desperately, and immediately. The second part wins out in the end as she crests, riding his fingers and tongue as he seals his mouth over her clit and sucks while his tongue flicks back and forth.

She shudders and comes, back arched, mouth open in a silent scream before she drops down to the bed, loose-limbed and pliant. She thinks that she could probably sleep for a thousand years. But then Hannibal rises up into her field of vision and her mouth goes dry at the sight of him, wet with her juices, licking his lips like the cat that got the canary. 

“Have you ever tasted yourself, Abigail?” He asks and she shakes her head. He smirks and leans back over her to kiss her. It’s not really a bad taste, maybe a little musky and salty, but mostly it doesn’t taste of very much at all. A thought occurs to her and she starts to giggle again. Hannibal raises another eyebrow and this time she tells him. “You just ate me out.” 

He understands her mirth instantly and joins her in her laughter. “Perhaps next time I will spread you out on my dining table, and have you that way. I have a wine that would pair quite nicely with your taste.” He comments and chuckles at the way it makes her flush all the way down to her breasts. That image...she shivers lightly in response. 

Abigail, sufficiently recovered from the earth-shattering orgasm she’d just received, pushed gently at Hannibal’s chest until he rolled with it onto his back, at which point she straddled him. “My turn.” She declared triumphantly, carding her hands through the hair on his chest and tugging gently. His breath hitched and he smiled encouragingly. She leaned over him to suck her own marks into his neck before dipping down to his chest. “What about you? Do you like it more than I do?” She asked before she licked one of his nipples. He hissed in a breath. 

“A fair bit more than you, I presume.” he admitted, which was all she needed to hear before she began to tease the little nubs into hard, aching peaks. He moaned softly and she relished in the noises he made, wondering if the stimulation was enough to make him come from that alone. She’d heard that some people were able to, but she wasn’t sure if that’s how he wanted to come. Besides, she had yet to properly look at his cock, which was a major oversight on her part, but she could admit that she had been a little intimidated at first. Now, though, she scooted back between his thighs, running her hands up his thighs, relishing in the feeling of his leg hair tickling her palms. 

His cock was long and uncut, which made sense for a european, not that she had any experience with either. But there were some things she’d managed to google on her phone on nights when her curiosity had been piqued. 

Clear fluid bubbled at the tip, and before she could think about it too much, she bent down to lick it up. The taste was saltier than her own, but still not bad. She reapplied her efforts, sucking the head and licking down the shaft, holding it steady in her palm. She wondered how far down she could take him before gagging and the answer was not very far at all. She estimated about half of his length before he hit the back of her throat and she had to pull off to cough. 

“You need not...” He began, trailing off with a grunt as she tried again, managing a little farther this time. 

When she pulled back off, it was with an obscene pop. “I know I don’t have to, but I’d like to.” She said simply. “Do you wanna finish like this? Or inside me?” She said, managing to ask the question with a straight face and minimal blushing. It felt like an appropriately adult thing to ask. Courteous, even. 

“Whichever you are more comfortable with. We do not need to engage in traditional sex if you’d prefer not to.” 

Abigail allowed herself to actually consider it for a moment before adamantly shaking her head. “Nope, I’m on board with that if you are. And I’m on birth control, so we don’t need condoms” She added, trying to sound casual about it. She’d been on birth control for years to counteract hormonal issues, and now it seemed incredibly convenient. 

Hannibal nodded, looking pleased with her response. “As you wish.” He said before he flipped them both over. Abigail grinned at him, completely on board with the casual manhandling. It was thrilling. Hannibal reached into the nightstand for a bottle of lube and she raised her eyebrows. 

“I would prefer not to hurt you, this being your first time, and there is rarely a moment in which too much lubrication is a hinderance.” He explained, and she nodded in agreement, eagerly spreading her legs for him. 

“Good girl.” He praised and she felt herself grow wetter at the sound of his voice saying those words. It was like sin. She wondered if he’d be able to talk her into an orgasm, and she hoped they’d get the opportunity to try it at some point. 

Hannibal slicked his fingers up and began to stretch her, slipping a third finger inside her, which did sting a little more than his previous two fingers. But he went slowly, maddeningly slowly. His touch was arousing, but Abigail needed more than the friction of his fingers to get off. Still, it made her even wetter and she could hear the obscene, slick sounds as his fingers pumped in and out of her. 

After some time, Hannibal decided that she was sufficiently prepared and lined himself up at her entrance. He couldn’t help but tease her with the head of his cock, chuckling softly as she glared at him and moaned. 

“C’mon...” she urged, angling her hips up. “Please, Hannibal...” 

“So polite. Very well.” He acquiesced, slipping inside her inch by glorious inch. 

Abigail gasped and clutched his shoulders, panting softly as she adjusted to the girth of him inside her. She wasn’t sure if he was just that big, or if she was just too inexperienced to know better. She liked to think it was the first one. 

He was hot and thick inside her, and he filled her up in the best ways. She felt the scrape of his pubic hair against her thighs as he bottomed out inside of her. He took a moment to check that she was still alright, and she nodded, wrapping her legs tight around his waist as he began to move. 

He started slowly, thrusting in and out of her lazily while she adjusted. But before long, Abigail moaned, arching up to meet his thrusts with her own hips, encouraging him to go faster, which he was only too happy to oblige. 

He set a punishing rhythm, pistoning in and out of her and drawing her legs up even further to spread her open for him. She moaned wantonly and scraped his shoulders with her fingernails, grinning a little when she heard him hiss in response. 

It was a heady combination of sensory input, the sweat of their bodies as they moved together, the slick slap of flesh against flesh, the friction as he entered inside of her, angling his hips to pound against that spot inside of her that made her see stars, his labored breath against her neck. And then there were the teeth that he pressed to the junction of where her neck met her shoulder, sharp points grounding her to reality. And there were her nipples, not terribly sensitive but aching all the same as they were rubbed raw against the hair of his chest as he continued to thrust inside of her. 

It felt like she would be suspended forever, riding a wave of pleasure but never quite cresting over. It was pleasant enough, more than, even. And she wondered if it made her selfish that she wanted to come again, desperately. 

So she reached down between her legs to rub at her clit, the other hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as she curled her hand around to cup the base of his skull. 

Neither of them really seemed to be talkative in bed, which Abigail thought might have been a little disappointing. She loved his voice after all. But she was too far gone to even think about articulating words, only managing desperate moans and gasps, some vaguely resembling the syllables of Hannibal’s name. 

All too soon she could feel herself reaching the edge and she clenched down hard, causing Hannibal’s head to snap up as he moaned long and guttural. She was coming then, clenching down rhythmically in spasms that seemed to run the entirety of her body. She shivered violently, hanging onto Hannibal will all her strength, and she felt him reach his own climax inside of her with a gasp. 

They both collapsed on the bed, Hannibal rolling her over to lie on top of him as they tried to catch their breaths. Abigail sighed, riding the wave of endorphins, content to spend the entirety of her afterglow pressed to Hannibal’s chest. 

“Well.” She said after some time. “That was great. A plus, good job.” She praised somewhat sleepily.

She felt more than heard Hannibal’s low chuckle. “I’m pleased you approve.” He said. 

She hummed in agreement. “We should make this a habit, you know.” She said wisely.

“I am entirely amenable to that.” He agreed, carding his fingers through her hair and smiling down at her fondly. 

Abigail knew that their relationship wasn’t sustainable, not really. But honestly, she had her whole life ahead of her still. Hannibal belonged with Will at the end, and she knew that they would balance each other out in the long-term. She’d help them get there.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](yggdrastiles.tumblr.com)


End file.
